


lose touch for a day

by AurigaVenatici (p_3a), Kilieit (p_3a)



Series: NaNoWriMo 2016 [2]
Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Accidental Bonding, Condoms, Crying After Sex, Cunnilingus, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Introspection, Post-Coital Cuddling, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, Weird Fluff, adoptive siblings thancred & minfilia, aether weirdness, blind y'shtola, patch 3.2: the gears of change
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-01
Updated: 2016-11-03
Packaged: 2018-08-28 12:33:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,520
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8445970
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/p_3a/pseuds/AurigaVenatici, https://archiveofourown.org/users/p_3a/pseuds/Kilieit
Summary: Two Scions find an odd sort of solace in one another.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Smut is in chapter 3.
> 
> I don't imagine I'll be writing more of this pairing, but the idea for this fic smacked me around the head with enough resonance that I had to write it down. I hope it's enjoyable on its own.

His footsteps were soft up the corridor, but not soft enough.

It had been several moons now since they both had left the Lifestream. Several moons since Y'shtola's perspective on the world had been irrevocably changed. Her ear pricked as feet undeniably Thancred's approached her from behind - and he would know from the twitch of her tail that she had heard him, as well. Even if she had not, she had other ways of perceiving his presence. Several moons since his aether had been broken in quite the way it was…

"Thancred." She turned to face him, acquitting herself expertly as one that might see his face as she tilted hers up towards him. "T'is unlike you to make a visit so late without a purpose."   
"Ah. Yes. Well." Papery sounds of anxious fingers, toying with a little empty-sounding box. "I came to ask a favour, of sorts."   


Y'shtola let her senses slip, and perceived at once what it was that lay within the package - a glamour prism. An expensive one, too, well-made and complex in its workings. And of course, if her suspicions were correct, Thancred would be unable to apply it himself…

"Pass it here," she said, reaching to take the box from him and resting it to unwrap on the workbench she'd been practicing her enchantments at. "What is it you need glamoured, pray tell?"   
"Ah-- well." Y'shtola noted - and was thankful for - the lack of overtures about her wisdom or beauty as he continued; "It's for… my face. Krile and I are to infiltrate an imperial castrum in a few bells; the dress code does not allow for facial coverings, and I'd rather not endure cutting remarks about…" His voice oddly thick, he trailed off.

Y'shtola paused in peeling away paper wrapping to turn her attention once more to Thancred. Once again she shifted her view… he wasn't wearing the cloth that usually covered half of his face. She'd known his eye didn't work, the trails of aether uneven and fragmented on that side, but she hadn't pried into the rest until now. It must have been… the claw of some great creature. Or perhaps a fire. Perhaps if she could see the scar itself, she'd have a better idea; it was impossible to tell simply from the disrupted aether it had left behind.

"Do you have a pocket mirror?" she asked, quietly. The box opened easily. The prism's edges were cool and electric against her fingertips; she could feel the aether bending around it as she lifted it out of its box and rest it in the palm of her other hand.   
"If you're asking me to advise you on how your handiwork is looking, then I can do so." She sensed a smile - genuinely meant, if not freely felt. She offered a similar one in return.

There was no more conversation to be had. Y'shtola reached tendrils of her aether out to activate the prism. Such a simple cantrip… and one far beyond Thancred's reach now.  She plied the aether gently through its facets, refracting it until a reflection formed with more clarity to her eyes than the original - a healthy half of Thancred's face. He looked more tired than she remembered. His skin brown, like hers had been when she'd entered the Lifestream. His eye, watching her.

She pulled away, tail-tip swaying while she placed the prism in his hand - his lack of comment certainty enough that she had done an adequate job - and turned back to her workbench to tidy the wrapping-paper away. A rustle of fabric told her he'd tucked the prism away somewhere.

"Thancred," she called out, when she heard him go to leave.

"...Y'shtola," he responded, his tone unreadable.

"Best of luck."

It was a platitude. They both knew it. But nonetheless, Thancred shifted his weight. "Thank you, my lady."

She heard him go.

After a longer pause than necessary, she returned to her work.


	2. Chapter 2

"Master Matoya will have strong words if she sees you slacking like that," Y'shtola called out.   
"Well, then." Thancred straightened where he was sat; yet still his fingers fidgeted against leather and hair, unavoidably anxious. "I should be glad that  _ you _ found me, and not her."

Y'shtola's lips twitched in a smile. Thancred seemed wan, even moreso than usual - that he could muster a quip was a sign, at least, that not all was wrong. Not wishing to dirty her cape, she didn't sit, but she did lean against the wall beside him. Thancred didn't stop fidgetting.

Another of those silences they shared - oddly comfortable, and just as natural when Y'shtola broke it. "I came to ask something of you."   
"Ask away."   
"I came to ask if you wished to ascend the bluff. While it serves little practical purpose, I doubt you could be harmed much by the fresh air."   
Thancred gave a quiet sigh, fingertips rapping rhythmically on his leatherbound thigh. "When Minfilia returns, I have to be there."   
Y'shtola tilted her head in sympathy. "I am sure our valiant Warriors of Light shall call us on the linkpearl if we are absent upon their return. But they are not due to reach the Antitower proper for another bell or two yet, and we're of no use to Master Matoya if we can barely keep our hands still for anxiousness."

The tapping stopped. Thancred gave a heavier sigh… then pushed himself upright, brushing the dust from his person. "Very well. You have persuaded me, Y'shtola. Allow me a moment to gather my things."   
She nodded, in response. "I will await you outside."

-

He was steady and quick in his ascent of the rockface. They took one of the ladders on the inner edge of the overhang rather than walk all the way around. It stood to reason he was fitter than when he had been sent away. She followed, more considered in the steps she took - the less experienced climber, taking careful time to perceive the position of the rungs, and in less of a rush to get away from the stifling cave.

The breeze at the top of the bluff was light and steady, warmed slightly from its usual chill by the heat seeping from the hinterlands. Y'shtola pulled her coat around herself as Thancred lead a path the quarter-malm to the edge of the cliff. She watched with her aether-sight as the eddies of Wind swept his long hair about, and hers - neither of them had bothered to change it back to how it was before, had they? She'd expected a trim to be the first thing he'd sought when they returned to civilisation. But like her and her hair-ties, he hadn't looked back.

He picked the spot to sit. It was against an old Sharlayan building, moss-covered and fallen in at the roof; far enough from the edge that falling wasn't a concern, but close enough that they could see. Sharlayan wasn't as bright as she would have expected, but there were parts here and there… the goblins were doing well. They'd restored the aetheryte, and she could see an aethernet point she hadn't spotted on her last visit, too. Then there was the curious thing in the Thaliak river…

"How does it look to you?" he said, suddenly.

From anyone else, the question would have given her pause - she'd even evaded it when Matoya had asked. But here, with him, it felt natural. So did his hand around her waist - she'd hardly noticed it, at first. They'd never… confided in one another, before. Or touched like this. But then they'd _seen each other's aether_ , raw and fresh and bare and Y'shtola couldn't think that even this conversation, these actions, could come close to how intimate that was. Everything else they could do came second.

So she described it for him. Idyllshire's lights, and the tears all around the Great Gubal Library, and the shimmering power in the swamp that Matoya enchanted, and the dome… he listened, tilting his head as she described each feature to look at it with his own eye.

They lapsed into silence again. Y'shtola couldn't help but glance over at her companion again; watching his aether simmer and breathe. Yet despite looking for it, she could see there was no bitterness in his heart. What she had done, what had given her this strange sight, lay at the heart of so much of what had broken him, literally and otherwise - and yet, he was not angry at her.

She let her sight fade and, without speaking, turned to face him. Quietly, she reached up to remove the covering on his eye. As she had raised no objection to his question, he did not stop her - tilted his head to make it easier for her to undo the knot, even. Though he breathed in and held it, for a moment, when she took the cloth away, he didn't panic like she'd expected him to. And he did not flinch when her curious fingertips felt over his torn flesh.

It had been the claws of a beast, then… two great rends worked from his forehead, over his eye - which she felt to still be there, warm under his closed eyelid - and down onto his cheek, though it stopped short of his lips. They'd healed badly. Scrying the aether beneath them out of habit, she saw it had been a further disruption (an infection, she would guess) that had taken his eye's sight from him. Would that she had deposited him more closely to civilisation…

"Thancred--"  
"No," he interrupted.   
"...Krile told me I had almost deposited you inside the mountain--"   
"I shan't let you apologise." His tone was soft, though. "Minfilia wouldn't hear it, and neither shall I. You did what was best."

Quietly, he leaned down and pressed a kiss to her forehead. It was stiff, as these things went - not the easy flirting he used with his fancies, or the confident touches he shared with his loves. But it was…

"You needn't," she offered; despite the bond they shared, she couldn't help but be a little astonished by his gesture. "Anger would be more than an understandable reaction. You needn't be any closer with me than you wish."

"...I understand." He paused. Gently, his hand came against hers, tugging at the covering she had gripped in her fist - she passed it back, and rustling of fabric told her he'd put it back in place. So this was it, then. Quite enough of the--

His kiss caught her full on the lips; proper and deep and completely overwhelming. She caught herself struggling to breathe even, despite it only lasting a moment - just as suddenly he was standing up, muttering thanks, turning to walk back the way they'd come. She knew him better than to follow him, and she simply breathed the cold air for a few moments through parted lips, watching him go.

For all her sight, her intentions in this were far beyond her perception.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'shtola is a cis woman; Thancred is a cis man.

The Word of the Mother. That's what this entity had called itself. The Warriors of Light had no cause to lie - and that the Word's knowledge coincided so neatly with existing facts and prophecies about the world meant that the chances of the Word's existence being a fabrication were slim indeed.

And so it came to be that Y'shtola was working through the night, attempting to discern the meaning behind it all. Books were scattered over the desk and floor of her room, each written in enchanted ink which at the time had been intended to protect the words within from fading in the sun - now, it served to allow Y'shtola to read them. The crucial passage could easily be concealed in some footnote of an unassuming tome - and so she had mind to check them all.

She wasn't expecting Thancred to return. Not tonight; not this moon, if at all. He'd set off as the Word's intentions were explained - where to, she had no mind to find out. Losing his eye was one thing, his control of his aetheric flow another - and losing his sister was quite another. Loss like that couldn't be glamoured away, even by the most skilled of mages. And yet Y'shtola knew from Thancred's own example that sitting and feeling guilty about what she had allowed to happen wouldn't solve anything - she had to understand what happened, and learn from it.

Time went on.

She didn't realise she'd fallen asleep until she felt a hand on her arm. A chastising Matoya, perhaps, or one of her poroggo - maybe even a concerned Alphinaud, or a Warrior of Light. They'd all been concerned about their Scion companions, lately. Yes, that was probably--

She turned her perception towards the interloper and found it to be Thancred.

Her expression evidently betrayed her confusion, because Thancred spoke. "T'is late," he said, moving his hand to rest on her shoulder. "Exhaustion won't help the matter."  
"Thancred, I did not expect you to return so soon." _Or at all_ went unspoken.  
He made a soft noise in the back of his throat - muted amusement - and shook his head. "I had thought you might be exhausting yourself, and I had a mind to intervene."

Without a further word, he pulled her to her feet. She stumbled slightly - more tired than she had anticipated - but allowed him to lead her, blind now, to her bed. It was still messy from the previous morn, but there was not a face in the Circle of Knowing who was a stranger to a bed abandoned in pursuit of more intellectual things.

"Believe it or not," he said as he sat beside her, "I've been down the path which lies before you, and I cannot recommend it."  
Her brow twitched in a frown. "Of which path do you speak?"  
His hand stayed in hers. "Late night study sessions," he said. "Ignoring the needs of one's body in order to fix one's mistakes. All in the name of my fellow Scions, of course. But that's not where it lead me, was it?"  
Y'shtola's ears dipped as she caught on to what he meant. Yes… he'd pushed himself, hadn't he, and they'd all thought it was good that his guilt about the tempered of Ifrit could drive him to such lengths in place of despair. And then he had been taken, while exhausted and vulnerable to influence, and almost lost to the claws of an Ascian…

He squeezed her hand. "Shtola. Please take care."  
Ears flattened, she gave a short nod. "Mine apologies, Thancred. I have caused you strife yet again."  
A kiss to her cheek - in lieu of words, she realised, after a moment. _He forgives me._  
"I will do everything in my power," she went on. "Matoya would never allow me to create such a mess without tidying it up, and I shan't allow myself to do any differently."  
Another kiss; tender and soft, and closer to her lips this time. Confusion swirled with the blush rising inside her.  
"...but I shall heed the limits of my mortality going forth, as you wish."  
Thancred nodded, and she could tell because his hair brushed against her as he did so - his head coming to rest against hers.

They stayed like that for a while. She let her eyes slip shut, squeezing Thancred's hand in return to show she was still awake. She didn't understand why he'd come. This surely implied that he did not hate her, and yet he most certainly should have-- she was at a loss, but then… perhaps it was for the same reason why she welcomed his presence here, why she couldn't think to send him away. Though it wasn't her intention, they had been irrevocably, irreparably intertwined that day - what was there left to do but accept it?

His hand came to brush her loose hair out of her face. She turned into the gesture, bringing her forehead to rest against his… her lips to rest against his.

She expected hunger and heat from him, like that day up on the bluffs. But then again, she didn't. He wasn't one-sided like that, the affable rogue everyone expected - him and his appetites. There was more to him than that. She'd always known that, but she didn't really think of any of them applying to _her_ until now.

Yet for all she wanted to, she couldn't take this at face value. She pulled away. "Thancred, t'is beyond my comprehension why you would wish for this."  
He tried to press back into the kiss without answering, but she insisted - hand on his shoulder, and he respected her rejection. A long, shaky breath out, and he spoke again. "...I meant what I said," he murmured. "Before. You aren't to blame for any of this."  
_Then who is?_ thought Y'shtola, but she knew better than to say it, for Thancred's answer would likely be himself by some contrivance of his mind. So she settled on, "nor are you."  
An escape of his breath which, under other contexts, may have been considered a laugh - but he rest his forehead against hers once more, and said, "sorry."

They kissed again. It wasn't like learning, more like revising - something they'd done before and had forgotten about. Sharing space like this wasn't new; doing so in the physical realm was, feeling out where the other liked to go, the contours of their face and the draw of their breath. The raised heart rate was new, too. The ears which perked themselves; the tail curling itself around where they both sat.

She wrapped her arms around him and lay him down with her - deciding where they both went wasn't a new sensation, either. This time, however, she was glad to relinquish it; heads resting together on the pillow, his hands began to explore her, prying her clothes away. His lips moved to the marks on her neck, the cusp of her jaw - a shiver went through her as his hand, broad and warm, slipped under her unclasped shirt to caress her bare waist.

Her hands, in turn, came to rest on his head and his shoulder. Before she could do more, though, his thumb slipped against her areola. The sudden sensation arrested her attention - he focussed in on that area, and her hand curled in his hair, bringing him in for a kiss that better matched the one they'd shared on the bluffs.

Arousal rolled through her body with every stroke of his thumb, and when his other hand found its way into her shorts, she didn't object in the slightest. Lifting her knee so he could slide his fingers between her legs, her tail coiled and shuddered as his rough fingers dipped against her slit - and she cried out, not worried for noise through the thick stone walls, as his forefinger found her clitoris. Of course he'd know where it was; he'd seen her as well, hadn't he?

Giving up, she let her fingers slide against his scalp and grip his hair. It was rougher than she'd always imagined - it had always looked so soft - but it was _his_ . Thancred's. His finger worked with the dexterity she knew he'd had all along, swirling about to sweep her hair aside, stroking and pressing against her in time with her panting. It wasn't that she hadn't been touched like this before. She _had_ , by herself and by others. But never by _Thancred_. Never in such circumstances. Never by someone she'd shared a Flow with…

She reached her peak with speed, ears folded and tail curled tight as a groan escaped her throat. And he caught her in a kiss right away, but only for a moment - quick and desperate, again - before he pulled back.

She was under no impression that he was moving away. He rolled her onto her back gently, and she followed his instruction, not desirous of anything else. Her shorts were pulled away and he settled himself between her legs; his tongue trailed where his finger had been moments before, and she _moaned_ with satisfaction. He was, at the least after all the nonsense she'd heard about him, not a disappointment.

She raked her fingertips through his hair as he slipped a finger, then two, inside of her; he was soft and tender, patiently lapping at her and feeling out her limits. More cautious, than she would have expected, but she found it endearing. It was difficult to concentrate on seeing under such circumstances, but a glance told her he was watching her, as well - an extra flush creeping across her skin at the knowledge of the eye contact he was attempting, even if she could not return it.

With patience and diligence, tongue teasing patterns over her clitoris and his fingers pressing against places within her that she thought only she would ever be privy to, he brought her once more to a plateau of pleasure. This one was slower to build than the last, but greater when it came - she felt herself release, something she'd rarely done, as her fists tugged sharp at his hair.

Yet he still didn't relent; if anything, his efforts seemed to increase in intensity, and she soon found her body arching and turning and curling in an effort to cope with the sensation. It was entirely overwhelming, but he was steadfast in his conviction - following her as she coiled away or arched off the bed, never once slowing or ceasing his attentions. She tried to speak, but her words came out only as gasps. Thancred groaned into her skin. Only once she peaked again did he draw back.

"Ah…" her breath passed heavy through her lips, "the selfless Thancred--"  
All at once he flipped her over; she yelped, undignified, then breathed out sharp while he removed the rest of her clothes; while her head stopped spinning. Her tail, unbidden, curled up over her back. She could feel Thancred leaning over her - still mostly clothed, but warm and strong and _hard_ where his length, still trapped within his trousers, pressed against her buttock.  
"Shtola," he said; and she heard the need in his voice, not for the pleasure but for the _closeness_. "Shtola. Do you want this?"

She laughed, soft, and rest her head on the pillow - turning it to allow him some view of her face. She felt his clean fingers come up to, once more, brush the hair away from her sightless eyes. "Quite the absurd question," she said; her tone nowhere so sharp as it could have been, _would_ have been in any other context. "Please, do continue…"

He kissed her cheek, gentle and reverent even with the smell she sensed of herself on him. And then he pulled away - she heard something tin, something paper, and the rustle of clothing. She breathed in anticipation of his presence, her ears tilted to hear him better.

And then his hands were on her, pulling her up gently to her knees; and he pressed into her, smooth and easy. He was blunt and untextured, the sensation one of rubber and not skin - no doubt those alchemical devices he used to ensure he sired no bastards - but he _filled_ her utterly… and by the Gods, he knew how to angle himself within her to keep her shivering.

Once within her to his satisfaction, she felt him lower himself to her back once more. He'd undressed himself, then, because she felt his skin press to hers, and it could never - nothing could ever be close to what they'd known, but it was _enough_ , and she heard his voice join hers with each little roll of the hips as they grew into a greater rhythm. She could feel his breath at the back of her neck. His voice - quiet keening in the back of his throat, desperate and needy…

She found herself leaning back into him, rolling her hips in time with his. Bringing one of her hands up; finding his arm. Following it down - as she shivered and rocked back into him, laying her hand over his. Slipping her slim fingers under his palm. Intertwining the last of hers with the first of his.

Her moans reached a crescendo as his unfairly perfect performance brought her to another orgasm. And moments later, his face pressed into her neck, he shuddered and, at last, stilled.

Together, they rest their weights down on the bed. Yet, despite what they had just done, she sensed something else in his breathing.

"Thancred?" She surprised herself with how heavy her voice sounded, but she supposed it was to be expected.

As was the fact he didn't respond. She squeezed his hand.

He pulled out, leaving her feeling empty, and tried to sit up. With a dexterity that surprised even her, Y'shtola twisted and caught him before he could lift his weight from the bed. To her amazement, he acquiesced.

She pulled the covers up while he tidied himself up where he lay; he was pinned between the stone walls and Y'shtola, so he reached over her to deposit the spent alchemy on the other side of the bed. They'd sort it out properly in the morning. His breathing was still off - she was all but certain he was trying not to cry, and although she had a good mind of why he might feel the need to, she didn't know why she was stopping himself.

"Thancred," she said, as soft as she could. She didn't need to say the rest aloud - _you can let go; you're safe here. I won't tell anyone_.

And sure enough, after a few moments - that same keening from before. Louder, now; and then sobs, shaking his shoulder under Y'shtola's palm. Her clumsy, unseeing fingers found his face, and then his uncovered cheek - she felt the tears roll down.

She pulled him into a hug.

She couldn't fix his eye. She couldn't bring back his control of the aether. She couldn't bring back his sister, either, she suspected. But she could do this for him. She could be there for him. She could hold him, and keep him company, and come morning, she could pretend for his sake - for both their sake - that none of it had happened.

She knew there were others he could seek this from, if he wanted to. But they _counted_ \- she knew, and for years it had grated on her, that he had such a strong need to impress and to be validated by others. But now, she saw that her refusal to partake in his games had positioned her to be a confidant - and when her Flow had exposed them to one another, the pact had been sealed.

This would happen again, she knew. When she needed it, or he did. They'd never talk about it - they didn't need to. He cried against her shoulder, and she held him. His breath was soft against her chest; his hair smelled pleasant. She could be at peace with this.

He fell asleep, eventually; and she resolved to join him in this. She could do this for him. She could do this for him.

They slept.


End file.
